


"Vengeance"

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Other, Rated it Mature for more torture than usual (I think) to come, Warnings: Torture to come. Not sure how graphic it will be. Just giving you all a heads up.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is done for Elenduen's d'Artagnan whumpage site at dreamwidth.<br/>You can visit and post your d'Art whumpers here: http://elenduen.dreamwidth.org/391.html</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Another day, another night at the Crooked Billet where the inseparables were often to be found enjoying good food and a decent vintage of wine. At the moment the three Musketeers were awaiting their fourth who appeared to be running later than usual. While they all contemplated the boy’s possible reasons for delay a runner entered the tavern looking for one of them.

“Musketeer Athos?” the teenaged youth shouted out as he looked around the tavern, taking in the boisterous souls that appeared to be enjoying their evening out. When he saw a man acknowledging him with his hand raised in the air, the boy immediately went over to him.

Tilting his chair forward, Athos tipped his hat up further onto his head as he studied the youngster’s approach. “You have need of me?”

“I was paid to deliver this to you right away,” the runner quickly handed over a letter to the Musketeer and left just as quickly.

It was addressed to him. As Athos broke the seal an object fell out into his right hand. Staring at it in shock, his brain registered what he held while his hand nearly crushed it within his hold. Scanning the contents of the letter, his face lost color as he swore quietly. Without a word to either Porthos or Aramis, Athos shoved back his chair and dashed out of the tavern.

“What the hell just happened?” Porthos was ready to go after Athos but a hand on his arm prevented him from following. The dark-skinned Musketeer glowered down at Aramis and shook the man's hand off.

Placing his wine glass down Aramis slowly stood up, signaling Porthos to do the same. “I find when Athos gets this way tis better to give him a head start and then give chase.”

“Yeah,” Porthos slugged down his own glass of wine slamming it down on the table, “I forgot that part.”

“Porthos,” Aramis glanced at his brother when they left the tavern behind them, “did you catch a look at what fell out of that letter?”

Rubbing his chin, Porthos scratched at his beard. “Naw.”

“Who were we missing tonight, eh?” this time Aramis voice did not hold that teasing quality he usually employed when making light of a situation.

“What’s d’Artagnan have ta do with Athos runnin’ outta here like a bat outta hell?”

Placing his hand on Porthos’ shoulder, forcing the other man to stop and look back at him, Aramis’ concerned gaze intertwined with the larger man’s questioning one. “It looked to me like the crucifix d’Artagnan always wears.”

“One cross pretty much looks like another ta me,” Porthos growled, shoving Aramis’ hand away. “Now quit beatin’ about the bush and tell me what ya know or I swear I’ll belt ya one!”

“It's more than a religious item,” Aramis lips’ firmed as he still held the memory of Athos’ hand tightening on the cross. “It's a family heirloom.”

“I never took notice none,” Porthos admitted. “How positive are ya it belongs ta the whelp?”

“Each end of the crucifix has a tiny faceted ruby in it,” Aramis kept walking, his sharp eyes peeled for any signs of Athos.

Amazed, with his colorful past that he failed to see something like that which surely would have caught his eye, Porthos shook his head. “The kid’s shirt and doublet usually covered it. Even the few times we went swimin’ I never saw the whelp without his shirt on.” Upset that d’Artagnan didn’t see fit to show him his cross but had showed Aramis apparently, Porthos felt slighted. "How da ya know so much anyway?" he grunted.

"One night Athos challenged our pup to see which one of them could out drink the other," Aramis smiled at the memory, "of course the lad lost and I was the only one sober enough to take the boy home."

"Where was I when all this was goin' on?"

"You were on a solo mission for the captain at the time," Aramis replied. "Anyway as I helped d'Artagnan out of his clothes because he was too far gone to do it himself, I noticed the crucifix then and admired its craftsmanship."

"So when the whelp was drunk d'Artagnan spilled ta ya the history of it?"

"Just a wee bit," Aramis laughed. "If you ever want to find out something from the boy get him drunk as a skunk." Stopping he suddenly realized that he honestly didn't know where Athos took off too. Steering Porthos toward the stables Aramis wanted to see if Roger was still there. "But I found most of it out later from the captain," he noted Porthos raise an eyebrow at that. "Remember when our youngest told us he was raised to be a gentleman?"

"Yeah," Porthos laughed. "Hard ta forget it. That's when we were settin' the trap for Vadim."

"Treville once explained d'Artagnan's remark to me after I badgered him about it later." Aramis walked into the stable and frowned when there was no sign of either Athos or his horse. Leaning against a post he folded his arms and finished his story. "Apparently blood of the nobility ran at one time in our pup's mother's family," he sighed as he straightened up and headed for the exit. "Of course what noble lineage there was died out through the years but that crucifix was passed down from generation to generation by the women in the family."

"I'm surprised d'Art wears something valuable like that," Porthos said.

"Why not?" Aramis didn't understand why Porthos would say that. "It's something personal that belonged to the lad's mother. He should wear it."

"Merde!" Porthos grumbled. "I worry enough about the whelp as it is. Now I have ta keep my eyes open in case someone decides ta knock him upside the head for his cross."

"Time to concern yourself about that at a later date, mon ami," Aramis clapped his brother on the arm. "We best go see Treville." He hated to bother the captain but things didn't look all that rosy right now.

++++

_Navarre (a little over five days journey from Paris) - Marshal Chaban's residence_

"Aye, joli garcon," Chaban's crazed laughter rang in the room below his spacious home. He had prepared this especially for his special prisoner. "I heard all about you and the inseparables," he grabbed hold of the boy's chin and cruelly squeezed, then shook d'Artagnan's head until the boy looked sick. "You had the misfortune to become the apple of Athos' eye, my lad," Chaban's harsh laughter vibrated in the room once more as he took in the bruised and battered face of the young Musketeer. He had worked the child over when the boy was unable to defend himself and was proud of his handiwork now on display.

The boy was currently struggling with his bonds as he was strapped to a chair in the center of the room. "You see Athos owes me," Chaban went on. "He took something quite precious from me and now," he grabbed a handful of d'Artagnan's hair and pulled back the younger man's head brutally, "I'm going to take something _precious_ away from Athos," instantly he released the lad's head watching it snap back up painfully.

Seeing that the man's grief was a live thing within Chaban, d'Artagnan honestly feared for his life in that moment as the madness was all too apparent in the man's eyes. "Since I am a captive audience may I ask what it was that had made Athos your enemy?"

"It was a long time ago now," Chaban appeared lost in thought as his mind brought him back to that day he lost his love and his mind. "I was a Musketeer too you know," he noted surprise reflected in the youth's eyes. "Athos and I were brothers or so I thought. We had just had breakfast at my home and as my wife, Colette, walked outside with us we were attacked by bandits."

He actually was afraid to hear what this man had to say about his mentor and brother. D'Artagnan feared that Athos was not going to come out in a good light.

"As we fought them, one of the bandits managed to grab hold of Colette," I nearly went mad but Athos was on it and I figured she would be safe," Chaban's eyes grew sad. "The bandit threatened to blow her head off and as Athos tried to disarm him the bandit's musket fired killing my wife instantly."

"And you've blamed Athos ever since?"

"He could have found another way to deal with the canaille without endangering my wife!" Chaban yelled, his spittle landing on d'Artagnan's face.

Knowing when to keep his mouth shut, d'Artagnan did just that for the fury in this man's eyes scared him all the more.

++++

_Musketeer Garrison - Captain Treville's office_

"And you can't find Athos anywhere?" Treville having heard the news that d'Artagnan was missing and not knowing the whereabouts of his lieutenant, he didn't know what to think.

"Before coming to see you as I first thought to do," Aramis removed his hat, crushing the brim in his hands, "we checked the stable and found Roger gone."

"Checked all Athos' usual haunts too just in case we worried for nothin'," Porthos added and threw out his arms in frustration, "but we came up empty there too."

"Aramis," Treville could tell the obvious strain the man was under with not only one but two brothers missing, "you're positive about that crucifix?"

Rubbing a finger back and forth across his forehead, Aramis nodded.

Sighing, Treville shook his head. "That boy's mother gave him that on her deathbed. The lad would never willingly part with it," his lips thinned into a fine line. "He's either dead or else someone's prisoner."

Hanging their heads down, both Musketeers studied their boots worrying what their two brothers had gotten themselives involved in.

++++

_Navarre - Marshal Chaban's residence_

The youngster passed out awhile ago from the abuse Chaban had dished out to d'Artagnan while he couldn't protect his head. Removing the straps he picked up the boy, threw him over his shoulder and dumped him on the bed he had installed in the room. Rolling d'Artagnan over onto his stomach he then spreadeagled him. Fastening leather straps to the boy's wrists that were attached to the bed, Chaban tested them to make sure they were tight enough and then did the same to the lad's ankles.

Reaching down Chaban ripped the young man's shirt from his back in one clean motion, leaving d'Artagnan's bare skin vulnerable to his intentions... which were going to take a turn for the worse.

Taking an array of items out of one of the cabinets, Chaban laughed out loud as he removed one in particular putting it aside. "Mmmmm, perhaps I will start with that one first." Glancing over at the unconscious boy, he hummed to himself. "Ah, mon petit Gascon, when Athos finally gets here the true fun begins."


	2. Chapter 2

_Second day, Navarre - Marshal Chaban's residence_

Checking on the boy, Chaban was pleased to see d'Artagnan had finally awakened from their last session together the evening before. Since then the boy had only been fed a hunk of bread and very little water making d'Artagnan quite weak. This was just one more form of torture the lad would endure while with him. Walking over to where he placed the next item on his agenda, Chaban almost drooled over the instrument. Picking it up he slapped the cane into his hands a few times, testing its sturdiness for he had never had reason to use it before. "Time to start again, mon petit Gascon."

Eyelids fluttering open, d'Artagnan groaned in misery. His face hurt so badly from the beating he had undergone. With his right eye swollen nearly shut, d'Artagnan's view of the room was obscured. It even hurt to breathe, his stomach muscles being abused from the suffering at that nut job's hands.

Finding himself on his stomach didn't help the discomfort he was now finding himself under. Realizing he was tethered to the bed he tried to struggle against his bonds but found it useless. All he succeeded in doing were to make his wrists bleed from the manacles surrounding them. Hearing Chaban's dreaded words, d'Artagnan braced himself for more punishment. It was not knowing the form it would take that scared him. So when the first strike of the cane touched the soles of his feet, not only was it unexpected, but d'Artagnan couldn't help howling in pain as the torture continued.

As Chaban struck the boy's unprotected feet, his harsh breathing could be heard in the room while he wielded the weapon. "The far eastern nations knew what they were about when they devised the bastinado." Hearing the younger man's screams brought nothing but pleasure to his deranged soul.

The torture felt never ending for d'Artagnan as the soles of his feet felt like they were roasting over hot coals. "Please!" he begged. "You don't have to do this!"

"Oh but I do," Chaban insisted. "Each kiss of the cane on your flesh brings joy to my heart."

Throat hoarse from the force of his screams, d'Artagnan's tears slipped down his face. Praying like he had never prayed before, he only hoped that Athos didn't arrive alone for he would be walking into a trap. Though d'Artagnan would like nothing better than to get out of this mess himself it wasn't likely. Still, he didn't want to see Athos making the ultimate sacrifice to save him either.

Throwing the cane on the floor, Chaban frowned down at it. "I grow tired of this game," he growled. Going over to the table again he picked up a whip. Running his hand over the handle he smacked his lips together in anticipation of this latest torture. "This will do nicely," looking down on the boy's bare back, Chaban almost hated to mar d'Artagnan's near perfection.

As he toyed with the youngster, Chaban dragged the whip ever so lightly down d'Artagnan's spine, teasing the flesh causing the lad to arch his back in hopes of flinging off the weapon. "Nice try," Chaban chuckled. Standing back he raised his arm and brought it down forecfully on the boy's skin.

Trying to hold back his screams, d'Artagnan bit his lips until they bled. But with each stroke the madman wielded, his will grew weaker until finally d'Artagnan's own anguished cries enveloped the room.

When d'Artagnan's torturous screams faded away to mere whimpers, Chaban could see the lad had lost consciousness again. The boy's back was a bloody mess by the time he had finished with him. That was the only drawback of blood, Chaban thought, it got over everything. He'd have to change the sheets later. As to the floor, well a good scrubbing wouldn't go amiss. But as far as his own clothes went, Chaban grimaced in distaste, he would go change into a clean set as soon as possible.

It would be awhile until the boy awoke Chaban thought while taking the stairs leading to the entrance to his home. He'd have to make sure to give d'Artagnan a little more water or he'd dehydrate and be of no further use to him. Perhaps even a hunk of cheese as well. Then he would let the lad rest until tomorrow.

++++

_Third day_

Having put a sleeping draught into the water Chaban had given d'Artagnan the night before, he took advantage of it by undoing the straps on the bed without having to struggle with the lad. Turning the boy onto his back, Chaban bent and lifted d'Artagnan into his arms. Going into the next room he placed the youngster onto an oblong, wooden, frame rack which was slightly raised from the ground.

At one end there was a fixed bar to which Chaban fastened d'Artagnan's legs too and at the other end was a movable bar which he tied the boy's hands too also. D'Artagnan's feet were then fastened to one roller and his wrists were chained to the other. Turning the handle as he began, Chaban caused the ropes to pull on his victim's arms. Once he started this procedure d'Artagnan slowly began to open his eyes and at once started to cry out in agony.

His hell increased as d'Artagnan heard a loud crack and then felt his shoulders separate from their sockets as they both dislocated. "Col... Colette... would be... would be ashamed of you," he gasped, before the strain of holding back more screams exhausted him completely.

Grabbing a hold of d'Artagnan's chin, Chaban roughly shook it. "You have no right to even speak her name, Musketeer!" he snarled.

"You're torturing me in _her_ name," d'Artagnan shouted back, "I think that gives me the right!" Then he felt his head snap to the left as Chaban brutally backhanded him across the face causing d'Artagnan to bite his tongue to keep from yelling out. When Chaban drew ever closer to him, d'Artagnan threw all caution to the wind and spat a mouthful of blood directly into the maniac's face.

"I will admit you earned that small act of defiance," Chaban sounded amused while wiping the blood away. "I admire your tenacity," he admitted. "Considering what I put you through yesterday, your pain should be considerable." His face hovered above the boy's, "Your back must feel like all the fires of Hades were beating at you."

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, d'Artagnan wished with every fiber of his being that he could promptly pass out. At least this way he wouldn't be reminded of the excruciating pain he was enduring.

"I believe I will leave you to rest for now," Chaban grinned, trailing one finger lightly down the boy's cheek, "while I go make further preparations."

"Don't... don't bother on... my account," d'Artagnan whispered, weary beyond all measure.

"Ah!" Chaban laughed. "Wit! Very good!" His mirth lingered the whole while he continued on with his plans.

++++

_Fourth day_

Knowing Athos should be here by tomorrow, Chaban had made ready his last and final act of vengeance against his so called brother. Staring at the dirt he had unearthed, a pleased smile formed on his features while leaning on his shovel. By this time tomorrow, when Athos arrives, he'll be attending d'Artagnan's funeral.

++++

_Back in Chaban's home_

"Master!" Duval rushed into the main room, clearly out of breath from running. "I've been looking out carefully for any signs of approaching riders and there is a lone man heading in this direction a few hours distance from us."

"Off with you! I'll take care of this!" Chaban wasn't expecting Athos a day early, but he should have known better that the Musketeer would ride to his protégé's rescue, breaking all the rules getting here. Time for Chaban to up the stakes.

++++

Having removed d'Artagnan from the rack earlier that morning, Chaban had placed the boy back on the bed again. There had been no need of shackling him this time since d'Artagnan could barely move from the immense discomfort he was feeling. On the pretense of giving d'Artagnan a simple sip of water, Chaban had doctored it once more with a sleeping draught. Its effects were instantaneous as the youngster's breaths evened out in slumber.

Picking the young man up, Chaban carried him outside to the back of his house where he had two retainers waiting for him. They opened up a wooden coffin that had been carried here for this purpose and helped Chaban place d'Artagnan inside of it. Watching the lid nailed tightly shut, Chaban chuckled low. "Now, Athos, now come for your precious Gascon."


	3. Chapter 3

_Same day, early afternoon_

_Navarre - back of Marshal Chaban's residence_

Darkness, everything had gone terribly dark. Not being able to see a solitary thing made d'Artagnan worry that he had lost his vision from the repeated blows to his head courtsey of Chaban's temper. Movement was limited as he tried to reach out to feel anything of substance. It was a struggle for him even to lift his arm ever so slightly due to a dislocated shoulder. Make that two of them as he winced trying to move the other. The multiple injuries he had received weren't helping the matter either as they all made themselves felt now that he had awakened.

Reaching out with shaky hands, d'Artagnan felt around until he touched something solid. Realizing the walls that surrounded him were made of wood as he knocked on them, his fuzzy mind was confused as to where Chaban had put him this time. Stretching out his sore limbs as far as he could, d'Artagnan was able to determine the length of his prison. The tight confines still puzzled him as he began to cough from a throat so raw from hoarse cries that it was painful for him to swallow. But at least d'Artagnan felt relief knowing he wasn't blind, just in a really, really dark place.

The continuing silence was eerie in itself; it was so quiet that d'Artagnan could actually hear himself breathing as his breaths quickened with ever growing fear of the unknown. Hard as it was to wrap his mind around it, d'Artagnan realized that Chaban had truly devised the ultimate revenge this time. The crazed man had placed him in a box of some type and no doubt the reason behind doing so had to mean that Chaban was transporting him elsewhere. But even d'Artagnan knew being in something sealed in such a manner that his oxygen supply would be limited.

Not feeling any movement, d'Artagnan wasn't sure if Chaban was waiting to move him or that they had already arrived to their destination. Squinting his eyes, d'Artagnan tried to search for tiny cracks in the top of the box but could see no light leaking out.

In frustration he began to pound on the lid the best he could. That's when dirt began to fall onto his face with every slap of his hand. Wiping it away and spitting even more from his mouth, d'Artagnan was incredulous. He was in a sealed box with dirt falling down on him which could only mean one thing... Chaban had literally buried him alive. Screaming at the top of his lungs for someone, anyone, to come to his aid, he thought of his mentor. Thinking of Athos, tears leaked from his reddened eyes. Would he ever see him again or worse, would Athos end up finding d'Artagnan's dead body? He didn't know which hurt more.

Trying to calm his rapidly beating heart down, d'Artagnan slowed his breaths to the bare minimum. He then berated himself for acting the way he had. He knew without a shadow of doubt that Athos was on his way. If he could hold out until then d'Artagnan knew his brother would free him from this terror. But the single mantra running through his mind - _Find me!... Find Me!... FIND ME!_ , was the only thing that mattered.

++++

_An hour later_

"CHABAN!" Athos shouted, his sharp eyes roamed over the area looking for assailants to crawl out of their holes to strike out at him. Seeing nothing he called out once more. "YOU WANTED ME HERE! SHOW YOURSELF!"

Stepping out from behind the back of his house, Chaban was pleased to see his old friend. But not for the obvious reasons. Clapping his hands he smiled but it wasn't pleasant. "The white knight comes charging to the rescue in true Musketeer fashion," Chaban smirked. "Isn't that how the story goes, eh?" Not expecting an answer he wasn't in the least disappointed when none came.

"Where's d'Artagnan?" Athos was filled with so many emotions he found himself not being able to think clearly. Concern for the boy was the single thought in his mind on his journey here. What if he were too late? He wouldn't be able to live with himself if d'Artagnan had been made to pay for his mistakes.

"The lad reminded me so much of the way I once remembered you being back in the day, Athos," Chaban drew closer to the Musketeer. "It made me look forward to getting up in the mornings again these past several days while I tortured the poor boy."

Rage simmering just below the surface, Athos reined in his temper. _Head over heart_ he repeated to himself. The very same words he browbeated into d'Artagnan every single time they practiced. "I ask again... where's my brother?" he growled, not having missed the fact Chaban referred to d'Artagnan in the past tense. His stomach clenched with dread.

The youngster's crucifix rested around his own neck. He looked forward to handing it back to the pup when the time came. Athos refused, absolutely refused to believe Chaban had ended the bright light that was d'Artagnan. Non, he believed his old comrade would have kept the lad alive to torment Athos with his futility to do anything about it.

"You should have been here to witness d'Artagnan's break down," Chaban said. "His pitiful cries as I whipped the flesh from his back and used the bastinado on him were music to my ears," Chaban's eyes glinted with madness. "But it was even better when I introduced the boy to the rack."

"Merde!" Athos swore loudly, drawing out his rapier. "One last time, Chaban!" Athos yelled. "Where is he?"

"Or what, Athos? Run me through with your blade?" Chaban cackled. "Then you'll never find him."

"He is alive then," Athos closed his eyes briefly in relief. He should have known Chaban would toy with him. Dangling the fact d'Artagnan's life was in Chaban's hands.

"Mmmmm, bien," Chaban shrugged lightly, "that's debatable."

"What the deuce do you mean by that?" Knowing the reason behind all of Chaban's actions didn't lesson the guilt Athos felt at the death of Colette. Dragging this out with him would only go so far.

"I'm standing on top of the child's grave," Chaban relished Athos' reaction when the other man paled considerably and fell to his knees. "You see I've had my revenge," he chuckled. "I've lived without Colette in my life and now you'll forever live with just d'Artagnan's memory in yours."

"What... what," Mon Dieu! Athos thought as the words wouldn't come out, "have you done?" he rasped.

"Buried the youngster obviously," Chaban stared hard at his former brother-in-arms. "He could still be alive. It all depends on how long his oxygen lasts," he tapped his chin. "Let's see, by my estimation the boy's been in the dirt at least an hour."

"DAMN YOUR SOUL!" Athos had risen back to his feet and in his blind rage rushed his foe, tackling Chaban to the ground. But his adversary was full of surprises, managing to land a harsh blow to Athos' unprotected head briefly stunning him but giving Chaban enough time to gain his feet.

Knowing now d'Artagnan's fate, Athos cared not in ending Chaban's life. Perhaps it would even be a mercy of sorts. For the man's mind had snapped with the death of his beloved wife. He went after Chaban with a vengeance. No quarter asked and none given as he forced his attack on the other man.

Jumping back from a near miss, Athos' fury knew no bounds as he regained his momentum pushing Chaban into making careless mistakes. It wasn't until Athos' blade finally found its mark when he swiftly spun around, taking Chaban off guard, and plunged his sword into his opponent's heart that Athos felt any kind of satisfaction.

As the fatally wounded man lay dying, blood bubbled out of his mouth. "It... doesn't... matter. Nothing... matters any... longer," Chaban rambled. "You've lost, Athos." Closing his eyes, death came for the former Musketeer.

The man was dead and best forgotten as far as Athos was concerned. What mattered now was finding something to dig up the ground with. Looking around, Athos caught sight of a shovel leaning against the rear corner of the house. He wasted no time in laying claim to it. Immediately going back over to the spot where Chaban stood gloating about burying d'Artagnan. With only that thought in mind, Athos began to dig.

++++

The lack of air was taking its toll on d'Artagnan making him feel quite legarthic. As his lids began to droop and finally close, he tried to open them again but their weight proved too much for d'Artagnan as sleep finally claimed him. Heartbeat slowing down to the point of no return, the last words to slip from his mouth were almost reverant as a prayer... " _maman... papa_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yup! This is it! Hope you enjoyed it everyone!  
> It was a great way to kick off Elenduen's dreamwidth d'Art whumper site!
> 
> ++++

_Same day, still early afternoon_

_Navarre - Marshal Chaban's residence_

Athos had been digging frantically into the hard earth for close to an hour, his back and arms aching with his efforts. When finally his shovel hit something hard, Athos' heart crept up into his throat. He scraped away the loose dirt that covered the top of the wooden coffin with his shovel until it was mostly cleared. He tried to pry the lid open then with his bare hands until they were left raw and bleeding.

Tears nearly blinded him as they fell from his eyes at the futility of the situation, knowing d'Artagnan may have already expired, and that Athos was to blame for all of it. The hole he had dug out to reach the boy was past his own height as Athos called out for help but couldn't see if any others approached. He needed at least another extra pair of hands to help him get the lid off. Then when despair nearly overwhelmed Athos he heard voices. "HERE! DOWN HERE!" he yelled out. Relieved when two scared faces peered down at him, Athos said, "I need something to get this lid off." The pair wore their guilt like the very clothing on their backs. Athos figured these were Chaban's retainers and more than likely had been forced to dig d'Artagnan's grave and bury him in it. Then this would be their way to atone for it.

"I got me a crowbar in the barn,' the one man responded quickly and then ran off while the other stood nervously by afraid to say a word. When the first man came running back he not only had one crowbar but two. Handing it off to his companion both men jumped into the hole and started to work prying the lid off. When it was finally loose enough the three men lifted it off.

Staring down into the slack, pale features of the beloved face of d'Artagnan, Athos held back from further weeping resolved in not believing the boy was lost to him. But from what he could see d'Artagnan breathed no more as there was no rise and fall of the lad's chest to indicate d'Artagnan still lived. "Help me get him out of here!" he ordered the two frightened men.

One of the retainers and Athos lifted d'Artagnan carefully out and then hefted his limp body up to the other man, who had crawled out of the hole to wait above them. Laying the lad gently down on the soft grass he backed away as the Musketeer and his fellow co-worker also made their way out of the grave.

Dirty, disheveled, and feeling about as low as one can get, Athos bent over the body of his protégé who was still not breathing. Trying to remember Aramis' teachings, Athos at first urgently tried chest compressions. Not seeing any results he then did mouth to mouth, desperately praying the whole while that God in his infinite mercy would not take this precious soul before the youngster's time.

"DON'T DO THIS, D'ARTAGNAN!" he shouted. "DAMN YOU, BOY!" he sobbed. "DON'T LEAVE ME THIS WAY!" But still d'Artagnan's chest remained still. It was then Athos collapsed on top of the lad, his shoulders shaking from his heartrending cries. Why didn't God take him? Why make d'Artagnan suffer for his past sins?

As he clutched one of the boy's hands in his own, Athos' head rested on top of the younger man's heart. It was then that the faintest of sounds reached his ear. It was the most beautiful sound in the world to him. Lifting his head up Athos tapped d'Artagnan's cheek trying to wake the boy. It took several minutes but the sight of the lad's eyelashes fluttering gave him hope. "Come on, d'Artagnan!" Athos whispered urgently. "Come back to me!"

While he waited for d'Artagnan's eyes to open it then hit Athos that perhaps the youngster he knew was no more. Aramis had once told him that being without oxygen for a certain length of time one could still live but suffer brain damage. This was not something Athos wished to dwell upon but if the worst were to happen then he would resign his commission and take care of the boy himself. It would be the least he could do for the brother of his heart.

"At... thos," d'Artagnan still had his eyes closed but realized he was now breathing fresh air again. "Ath... Athos," he croaked again. Feeling a rough, calloused hand brushing dirt away from his cold face and then cup his cheek, d'Artagnan finally managed to open his eyes. Seeing his mentor's tear stained, dirt riddled features had to be the most beautiful thing in the world to him at this moment. "Took... took you... long... enough."

Stunned at first by the boy's words, Athos then noticed d'Artagnan's bluish tinged lips turn upward as he tried for a smile. Playing along, Athos' eyes crinkled up in the corners as he smiled in turn. "Roger was being ornery as usual," he shrugged lightly. "You know how it goes."

" _Ornery_ ," d'Artagnan repeated breathlessly, "just... like... his owner."

Lifting d'Artagnan up and cradling him to his chest, Athos chuckled. Brushing his hand through the lad's dirt crusted hair he placed a brief kiss to the top of the boy's head. "Touche," he murmured. Feeling the younger man's chest shake, Athos realized d'Artagnan was trying to laugh but instead it turned into harsh coughs. He held tight to d'Artagnan so the boy wouldn't hurt himself further. "Normally I'd get you up on your feet but you've been through quite an ordeal," Athos closed his eyes thinking upon what d'Artagnan had truly suffered, "one I would have dearly not wished upon you."

"On... that we... both agree," d'Artagnan huffed and rolled his eyes.

At least Athos could rule out brain damage as he could tell that d'Artagnan was back at the top of his game in dishing out smart remarks. Now that the lad was awake, Athos could see signs of fever blooming on the pup's face. "Merde!" he swore. "Your back's probably infected."

At his mentor's words, d'Artagnan winced as all his hurts came back to the fore. "Everything... feels on fire," d'Artagnan complained. "Chaban never treated... my back... after he whipped me. Nor... any of my... other injuries."

"Oui," Athos nodded as eyes roamed over the boy. "Your poor feet," he moaned. "I'll have to tend to them as well and wrap them so they can heal," Athos sighed. "But first your back needs the more immediate attention."

"I... hate... to be the... bearer of... more bad news," d'Artagnan swallowed hard, "but both of my... shoulders are... dislocated as well."

Closing his eyes again, Athos shook his head, wishing he could kill Chaban all over again for what he put his youngest through. "I'll have to put them back in place."

"I know," d'Artagnan replied softly, seeing remorse fill his best friend's blue eyes. "Could I have a few minutes before you do that?"

"We will wait until I get you safely inside." Hearing shuffling sounds from behind him, Athos turned his head and noticed the two retainers anxiously standing by. He was actually surprised they had hung around. They probably didn't know what to do with themselves now that Chaban was dead, Athos thought. "Ready a clean bed for me to place d'Artagnan on," he barked the order out and was more than amused to see how fast those two men ran back to the house to accommodate him.

"Used your... best... _comte_ voice on... them," d'Artagnan quipped, resting his head on Athos' solid chest. Then he was startled as d'Artagnan felt something being placed around his neck; feeling the warmth of metal lying against his chest d'Artagnan instantly knew what it was. Looking down he saw something sparkling in the sunlight. Lifting his hand, he fingered the family heirloom that Chaban had previously taken from him. His maman's treasured crucifix was now back where it belonged. "You kept... it safe for... me," d'Artagnan glanced up at Athos' set face.

Placing his own hand on top of the boy's, Athos smiled grimly. "I was determined to give it back to its rightful owner."

"Merci," d'Artagnan was more than tired. His body aching and sore, not counting the fever he felt building up inside him. "Not that I'm... not glad... to see you," he tucked his head underneath Athos' chin, "but I wish... Aramis were... here."

"You don't trust me to tend you?" Athos replied deadpanned, his eyes twinkling. "I'm beyond hurt," but he started chuckling.

"Have to admit... Aramis... does it... better," d'Artagnan pointed out cheekily.

"You'll get no argument from this quarter," Athos replied. "But sadly you'll have to make do with my own humble efforts," he tacked on dryly.

Patting Athos on the chest d'Artagnan scrunched up his face. "If I have too."

"I know you're well on the way to your old self for sure now when I start getting attitude from you, pup," Athos snorted quietly.

"Porthos will... be jealous," d'Aragnan murmured as he felt himself become airborne when Athos picked him up to carry him into the house.

"Of what?' Athos retorted. "Of being tortured and buried alive?" Perhaps he had been too hasty in his assessment of how d'Artagnan fared. The lad's brain must have suffered a traumatic injury for the the boy to say such a thing.

"Non," d'Artagnan weakly punched Athos on the chest. "In missing _you_ ending Chaban's miserable existence."

Stopping in mid stride, Athos was struck by the wealth of certainty in the boy's voice. "I had not thought to mention anything of him yet."

"You would not be here carting me back to _that_ house if Chaban still lived," d'Artagnan scowled the closer they came to the residence.

Not missing the look d'Artagnan gave the place, Athos felt badly. "If there were any other alternative..." he didn't finish as the boy held up his hand.

"Worry not," d'Artagnan rasped as his voice began to fade. "Tis only an empty shell now."

"You're wise for one so young, whelp."

"I know," d'Artagnan tiredly grinned. "That's why you, Aramis and Porthos love me."

Smiling as Athos prodded the half opened door with his foot, he gazed fondly down at the top of d'Artagnan's head. "That we do, lad... that we do."

The End


	5. The Finale/Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought back to you by popular demand... LOL! Yes, dearies, here's the epilogue some of you wanted.
> 
> ++++

*Navarre - Marshal Chaban's residence*

Tending to d'Artagnan's multitude of injuries was trying for Athos as he nearly ceased treating the lad the more he heard the boy scream in pain. He felt horrible as it was for what d'Artagnan had suffered already. He didn't need anymore guilt dropped on top of his head as there already was.

Setting the lad's shoulders was the worst experience Athos had ever had as d'Artagnan howled in agony when he took care of it. Of course Athos wanted to wait awhile between setting both shoulders but the stubborn Gascon insisted that Athos get it over and done with. So by the time he finished, aside from feeling like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Athos thanked God that the pup was rendered unconscious after his ministrations.

Startled as Chaban's two retainers had rushed into the master bedroom, Athos nearly reached for his musket that he kept on the nightstand near the bed. Shaking his head when he saw who it was, Athos breathed in relief. They probably thought he was killing the lad judging by the way d'Artagnan had yelled out in pain. Athos had taken the time to find out that the men were named Marceau and Willame. They both had been with Chaban for the past five years and had admitted to Athos that they only stayed that long because they were afraid of Chaban. Apparently Marshal had threatened the men with dire consequences if they should ever leave him in the lurch.

Looking at the sleeping form of the boy, Athos sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hands through d'Artagnan's soft hair. He realized that the lad would not be able to make the journey back to Paris in his present condition. At best d'Artagnan was facing a long recovery. On top of everything else Athos could count the child's ribs. Another thing he could thank Chaban for in nearly starving the lad. When Porthos and Aramis see d'Artagnan's poor shape there will be hell to pay but unfortunately for his two other brothers there would be no way for them to exact their revenge now that Chaban was dead.

Figuring that he'd see how the boy felt by the end of the week before making his decision to return home, Athos then would risk traveling back with d'Artagnan in a wagon he had found in the barn. Asking Marceau if there was anyone who could ride to Paris and inform Captain Treville of what has happened, Athos was interrupted when instantly Willame piped up telling him there was a young man that had a fast horse in a nearby village. So Athos hastily wrote a letter to the captain and handed it off to Willame who raced away. 

Looking around the room Athos was thankful that at least d'Artagnan was spared having to make his recovery in one of the rooms below where the lad had been nearly tortured to death. The upstairs was quite sparse but at least it was clean and had most of the amenities he needed to help the pup heal. Standing up Athos pulled the blanket up higher on d'Artagnan, tucking it under his chin. All the child needed now was to catch a chill when he had tirelessly worked to bring the young Gascon's fever down. It was going to be an extremely long week for d'Artagnan and himself until they could put this place and its horrendous memories behind them.

++++

*Two weeks later*

When Paris came into view a huge grin broke out on Athos' face. If Porthos and Aramis were to have seen it they wouldn't have recognized the transformation. Glancing behind him he observed d'Artagnan resting on the mounds of blankets Willame and Marceau had provided to help make the journey as comfortable as it could be for the boy. All Athos could see of the pup was some tousled brown hair peeking out from underneath one of the heavy blankets. Smiling fondly down at the lad, Athos was more than relieved to finally have gotten them both back home without further incident. It had taken them longer than he'd like to get back to the garrison as it was. Whereas Athos had been able to cut his own time down by a day when he had first arrived in Navarre with the intention of rescuing d'Artagnan, the same thing couldn't be said about their return trip. 

With d'Artagnan arguing about the length of time Athos wanted him to recover while at Chaban's verses staying the whole seven days like Athos intended in the first place, d'Artagnan had worn him down and won. But the Gascon's fever spiked during their travels and they had to make several stops along the way, making their arrival take much longer than Athos had wanted.

When Paris came into view and he finally reached the garrison gates Athos could have jumped out of the wagon and kissed the ground, he was that overjoyed to be in familiar territory. Many of his brother Musketeers on duty hailed him and asked how d'Artagnan fared as Athos guided the wagon slowly past them. He was pleased to answer their queries. "The boy's a tough one to keep down for long," Athos noted the head nods and smirks he received at his remark and a small smile broke out on his own face. "He's getting much better now," Athos chuckled. “Enough so that he’s been giving me plenty of sass.”

Parting like the Red Seas, a group of Musketeers that had lined up to greet them made room for the wagon to go through. When Athos brought the wagon to a halt near the infirmary he jumped down from it and dusted himself off as best he could. Then, before he knew it, Athos was immediately grabbed from behind and forcefully turned around to face two irate looking brothers.

"You!" Aramis shook his finger at Athos, holding back from what he really wanted to say and settled instead for grabbing the man by his shoulders and bringing him in for a full body hug. "Ah, bien," Aramis sighed, "at least you're in one piece, mon frere."

"I'd like ta slug ya," Porthos growled, also pulling Athos in for a tight hug. "Guess I'll settle for ya ta buy us a round of drinks later."

"The way I'm feeling right about now I could buy the whole regiment one," Athos admitted, glancing over at the wagon. "For now would you please help me carry d'Artagnan up to the infirmary?" Athos quietly requested. He couldn't blame either man for their remarks to him, considering how he left them in the lurch the way he had with no explanation whatsoever.

Opening the back of the wagon, Aramis helped Porthos settle the injured young man in his friend's massive arms and then they both walked quickly up the steps to the infirmary. Athos and Captain Treville brought up the rear. The latter had just arrived from the palace and followed them into Doctor Devereaux's domain.

++++

*Infirmary*

Throwing his hat on the floor in fury, Aramis mussed up his hair as he ran a hand through his dark curls. "Mon Dieu!" He threw Athos a deadly look. "You're positive this Chaban's truly dead? Because I'd like to go back and tear him apart."

"I got first dibs on that," Porthos barked, dearly wishing he could have been the one to rip Chaban in two with his bare hands.

Both men were livid after hearing Athos tick off d'Artagnan's numerous injuries along with the infection and fever he had been dealing with. Seeing the guilt that riddled Athos’ weary features, both Aramis and Porthos could tell that Athos blamed himself entirely for what befell their youngest.

"The lad's been through a horrible experience, Athos," Treville placed a firm hand on his lieutenant's shoulder, shaking it gently. "D'Artagnan wouldn't place the blame on you for it though and neither do any of us."

"My thanks for trying to make me feel better," Athos stood back from the boy's bed watching as the doctor was asking d'Artagnan how he felt. He smirked as he watched their young one batting Devereaux's hands away when the doctor poked and prodded at the pup’s bandaged ribs. Leaning into Porthos' side Athos remarked, "Some things never change, eh?" Feeling the quiet laughter bubbling up in his large friend, Athos' smirk grew broader.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan whined, followed by * the pout*. “Tell the good doctor here that you've taken care of my injuries and that I’m well on the road to recovery."

"Stop being a brat... brat," Porthos chuckled at the scowl the boy gave him, along with a rude hand gesture. "Eh, Mis, our whelp’s been hangin' round ya too long."

Pointing to himself, Aramis' brows rose clear to his hairline. "Moi?" Glancing down at the grin d'Artagnan wore at present, Aramis playfully swiped at the boy's face. "Have you been spreading rumors, mon ami?"

"Haven't had time lately," d'Artagnan groaned as Devereaux once again hit a tender spot behind his head. "Been too busy being used as a whipping boy." He meant it to come out as a jest but seeing Aramis' ready smile slip and that of his other brothers, d'Artagnan realized his remark was in bad taste. 

Scratching at his beard, Athos contemplated their young Gascon for a minute and understood why the whelp tried to make light of what had happened to him. The boy realized how frustrated Aramis and Porthos felt in wishing they had accompanied Athos when he had gone to Navarre without them. Shaken out of his thoughts by the feel of a hand tapping him on his shoulder, Athos turned around and encountered Treville's concerned gaze on him.

Pulling Athos by the arm, Treville backed the man into a far corner where the others wouldn’t hear them speaking. "Why couldn't you have taken the time to let one of us know where you were going and why?" Seeing Athos hang his head down, not wanting to meet his eyes, Treville continued. "I thought Porthos was going to kill someone he was so angry. And don't even get me started on how Aramis was acting out the whole time you two were gone."

"Would you believe me if I told you that there was no time to spare?" Athos glanced into his captain's stern face. "Chaban sent me d'Artagnan's crucifix and a message along with it," he glanced away from Treville for only a moment to watch young d'Artagnan having an animated conversation with Devereaux. Judging by the way the Gascon's hands wildly gestured in the air, the boy was probably on the receiving end of a stern lecture from the doctor. 

Facing Treville's understanding eyes once more Athos finished what he had begun saying. "*Come or the boy dies* were the words Chaban used to spur me on,” he shrugged. “Knowing of our past history together I knew he wasn't bluffing. Since we had just come off a mission my saddlebags were still packed with my belongings. So all I needed to do was raid Serge's kitchen for enough food to last until I arrived at Navarre."

"That explains Serge's rant the next day," Porthos added, whose sharp ears caught most of Athos' explanation. "Man was he upset thinkin' one of us stole his grub."

Chuckling, Athos shared an amused look with Treville. "Be sure to remind me that I must apologize and make reparation to Serge in person.”

Waving his hand at Athos, Aramis snorted, "For d'Artagnan, Serge will forgive you much."

"True enough," Porthos agreed. "The kid has Serge wrapped around his pinky,” he winked at the boy, “and well he knows it.”

"If that were true," d'Artagnan broke in, "why does Serge keep serving me porridge in the mornings?" he pulled a face that had all the men laughing, including the doctor. "I hate the stuff."

"Perhaps someone should inform Serge of that small fact," Athos smiled at the lad. Looking back at the captain again, his smile faded. "Er, back to what I was saying..." he paused as Treville held up his hand.

"Don't bother," Treville returned dryly, "I pretty much know how it goes," he huffed and added an eye roll for good measure. "You didn't want to waste precious time getting to d'Artagnan."

"Exactly," Athos responded but seeing twin looks of disappointment on Aramis' and Porthos' faces didn't make him feel much better.

"Gentlemen," Doctor Devereaux approached Captain Treville and Athos, "would it be too much of a bother for everyone to leave," he nudged his head toward d'Artagnan. "He needs to rest and with all this talking going on d'Artagnan's not likely too." Then sotto voice he added, "Even though I helped him along."

Noting the boy's eyes at half mast, Athos realized Devereaux had given d'Artagnan a sleeping draught. Looking down upon the youngster he had sweated bullets over, Athos leaned down and placed a tender kiss on the Gascon's forehead. "I pray your dreams are kinder to you than they have been lately."

"I'm gonna stay!" Porthos shot the doctor a feral look meant to make Devereaux shake in his shoes, but the doctor gave as good as he got and scowled so fiercely back that it actually made Porthos back down. "Er, guess not."

Slipping his arm across Porthos' broad shoulders, Aramis laughed. "You gave up too easily, mon frere."

"Kid's gotta rest," Porthos made his excuses. "Don't wanna create a commotion in the infirmary."

"Hmmmpf!" Athos snorted. "Since when?" His eyes caught and held both his brother's and arm in arm they all left the infirmary with Captain Treville sharing an eye roll with the doctor.

The End


End file.
